


Solutions to Sleeplessness

by southofzero



Category: Alien: Isolation
Genre: Absolutely Shameless Android Fucking, Christopher Samuels Lives, F/M, [lights cigarette] heard this ship was low on smut, and they were ROOMMATES, honestly though I just wanted Amanda Ripley to get dicked down lovingly like she DESERVES, the file name for this was 'back on my bullshit.word'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southofzero/pseuds/southofzero
Summary: Ripley is left restless after a near-nightmare, and you can guess the rest.





	Solutions to Sleeplessness

She's back there again.

Sevastapol radiates a heat-sapping cold. It's a lingering chill -- like the decommissioned station is lowering the thermostat to freeze out the strays.

She wanders through a corridor, sticking close to the wall, and she can feel it seeping into her bones. Perhaps the predator will kill her before Sevastapol sucks the life from her. Whatever comes first, she figures.

_Amy._

Ripley can't tell if her shaking is from the cold or nerves, but she has to set her teeth on edge to keep them from chattering. She turns a corner, and a clatter in the air vents makes her grip tighten desperately around the barrel of her weapon.

_Amy, you're alright._

Is she?

She stares ahead, the shadowy glow of the flamethrower's ignition dancing around her. The noises above her get louder. She keeps her eyes on the vent, waiting for the inevitable. She's gotten the hang of this -- as much as she can, anyway. Better to send the thing packing than give it a chance to get the drop on her.

_Ripley, wake up._

Consciousness washes over her slowly, dragging her back into the waking world. Her jaw hurts, she notices first. Her teeth are clenched so hard that a dull pain has gathered in her temples.

"You're alright," Samuels repeats above her, his voice level and calm. His hand is draped across her fingers, loosening their grip on the sheets. Numbly, she lets go and glances up to find the outline of his form. He's within arm's reach, but not close enough to feel suffocating.

Ripley takes a breath and holds it, but no sobs rise to her throat. It's better this time; he woke her up before the worst of it. Her eyes focus, trying to make out his features in the dark.

"Thank you," she says, and the words come out stronger than expected. "You nipped that one in the bud."

He relaxes. "You were restless, so I decided to wake you."

She sighs, straightening her legs under the duvet. Her pulse has settled into something close to a resting heart-rate, but she still feels put off by the dream. Not in the typical sense -- there was no panic and terror this time -- but the residual anxiety is thrumming in her muscles.

"Would you like to move rooms?" Samuels asks, and she glances back at him. Truthfully, she didn't feel like switching beds, going for a walk, or doing the usual busywork she performed to tire herself out. She was content here with Chris, even if her body wasn't.

Ripley makes a noise in the back of her throat. "Not really, but I doubt I'll be able to fall back asleep like this."

"Is there any way I can help?"

His offer is sincere, but it makes Ripley turn her head to look at him. Mulling over it only brings one solution to mind, and it wasn't a completely innocent one. Then again, it wasn't like they hadn't cleared that hurdle already. (She'd dragged him into a heated encounter in their kitchen just last month.)

Reaching over, she snags her fingers in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "I can think of one way."

His expression reads confusion until she pulls him closer, and he catches the hint. She's always liked that about him; he's a fast learner.

The kiss is pleasant: a damper to her frayed nerves. She leans up into it, tugging at his collar to draw him closer. When he pauses to let her breathe, she snakes her hand around to hold the back of his head.

She'd be happy to kiss him for the rest of the night, but her pent-up energy makes her antsy to find an outlet. Ripley presses herself closer, hiking her leg up as his lips find her jaw, and she's tempted to flip them over and get the ball rolling.

He must sense her impatience, because he pulls away, fixing an honest gaze on her face. "Would you mind if I tried something?"

She arches a brow. "Stumble across an issue of Cosmo?"

The joke doesn't land, because he gives her a puzzled look. "I'm not sure I foll--"

"It's a magazine," she interrupts, biting back a laugh. She cards her hand up through his hair. "I trust you Samuels, you know that."

His hand drifts to her hip, and he leans forward to kiss to her cheekbone. "And I trust you to tell me if this is unpleasant."

He kisses her again before moving on to her neck, and she tips her head to give him better access. He's nothing if not thorough, and he marks her collarbone with a thoughtful kiss before wandering lower. Realization sparks to life, and Ripley feels herself flush hot-cold at the idea.

It's certainly not an bad one, but she can't lie: it isn't something she's experienced more than a handful of times. It was a little vulnerable for her liking, and she struggled to enjoy it.

His hand slips up under her knee, and she wonders if this time was going to be any different. She doubts that it will be _unpleasant_ \-- it was Chris, after all -- but she has trouble relaxing as he ducks to kiss her sternum.

Ripley adjusts herself, the strong muscle of her thighs shifting atop his shoulders, and she tries to keep her exhale from shaking. He seems to notice, because after a split second of thought, he tentatively skims his hand upward to touch her side. She leans into it, fitting his hand to the curve of her waist, and she can feel his gaze on her. If it were anyone else, she might feel pinned down or scrutinized, but the fact that it's him changes things.

She feels his thumb stroke an arc over her ribs. He watches her for a moment more, searching for hesitation, and when he finds none, he dips to kiss her hipbone. His hand moves from her waist to slip under her rucked-up shirt. Ripley relaxes as his large palm covers her chest. So many men before him had rushed to grab and pinch, but Chris only swipes the pad of his thumb over the peak. She wonders if he had it in him to be rough, and quickly decides that's a question for later. The gentleness was really, really nice.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of her knee, other hand holding her thigh. His fingertips graze her underwear, and Ripley shifts under him, trying to urge him along. There's a half-beat as he realizes what she wants, and he hooks his fingers in the fabric to drag them down.

Samuels shoulders out from under her legs, pulling them off, and her whole body flushes at the sudden vulnerability. She was never particularly shy, but -- Ripley looks down to see him studying her face again, and the blush over her cheeks starts to feel scorching.

"You're unusually red," he observes simply, and she heaves a sigh as her head falls back onto the pillow.

"It's been a long time since someone's seen me like this," she explains, voice clipped.

That, and her male partners didn't make a habit of going down on her, especially since most of them were one night stands. (As a rule, she didn't do it either. Reciprocation was key, after all.)

Christopher goes quiet, probably mulling over what she said, but she feels his hand under her knee as he puts it back over his shoulder. "A shame," he murmurs. "You are quite beautiful."

She squeezes her eyes shut, her heart tumbling. When she finds her bearings, the bite in her voice is weak. "You're such a flatterer."

Samuels makes a humored noise, laying his palm flat against her inner thigh to coax her legs apart. He puts his mouth to her without preamble, and she tenses, an uncharacteristic whimper ripping from her throat. His tongue was warmer than his hands, hot enough that she felt torn between arching into it and squirming away. Alright, maybe her apprehension was for nothing. 

He pulls away, and she mourns the loss of contact. "Alright?" he asks sincerely, and she tries to gather her thoughts.

"Yes, yes. You're just --" she fumbles for words, "very warm."

He lifts his head a bit more, concern coloring his tone. "Not too much, I hope. I apologize, we tend to run a bit hot in comparison to humans --"

Ripley's hands fly to his hair, and she shakes her head. "No, no. You're good. It's good." Distressingly good, really. Perhaps it's her years-long celibacy talking, but she's going to have daydreams about this for months. 

For a man that wasn't her type physically, he had a way of rendering her useless.

She has to stop herself from lifting her hips as he gets close again. He's not practiced at this, but her touch starvation makes up for whatever he lacks in experience. She melts into it, humming when he does something particularly well. 

He drags the flat of his tongue up her center before closing his lips around her clit, and she can't help the breathless moan she makes in response. Bashfulness stops existing as a concept, and she lets her legs fall open without the pressure of his hand.

"Fuck," is the only word that comes to mind, and she hisses the 'f' as she rolls her hips up towards his mouth. He doesn't hold her down or pin her to keep her still -- her enthusiasm only seems to encourage him.

His hand comes up to lay across her stomach, and she moves one of her own to hold it.

The build is slow, but it still feels faster than she'd like. When her thighs begin to tremble, she fidgets underneath him.

"Ah -- Chris," she says, and if she were in her right mind, she might feel embarrassed at the whine. She's never been a particularly noisy partner, but every reluctance she had about being vocal was long gone.

She squeezes his hand. "I want --"

His tongue laves over her, and she tips her head back to make a pitiful noise towards the ceiling. "Damn it," she pants, and tugs his hair with her other hand. "Get up here."

The growing tension in her body fades as he lifts his head, and he gives her a bemused glance. "Are you sure you would like me to stop?"

"Yes." Her hand falls to his collar -- she should have taken that shirt off earlier -- and she tugs at the fabric. "Come kiss me."

He does as she asks, hesitating briefly before pressing his lips to hers. Probably to save her from tasting herself, she realizes, but she opens her mouth under his to urge him on. As she slides her palms over his shoulders, it occurs to her how broad he is. Amanda curls her fingers in his shirt and breaks the kiss. "Off," she orders.

Her bossy attitude doesn't phase him, because he sits up to pull it over his head. When he leans back down, her hands find his waistband. He pauses. "Are you sure?"

"Very," she replies. Their unfinished business left her wound-up and tight, and every beat of her pulse only made her feel needier. Ripley undoes the drawstring of his pants, shoving them down, and he's hard when she wraps her fingers around him. He feels warm -- and real, she notes as she drags her palm up the length of him. Different, but real.

She's never thought too hard about their compatibility in this way. Other things mattered more, but she can't lie and say she's not... pleased. The idea of having him inside her sends a glimmer of anticipation straight to her center.

He falters, not moving, and she realizes his inhibitors might be acting up. She tips her chin up to brush their lips together. "You can touch me," she reminds him, and he shifts close enough that she can feel the heat trapped between them. "Is this okay?"

"Very," he says, mimicking her, and she drops her hand from him to touch herself. She's really wet, both from his mouth and her own arousal, and her fingers slip up without resistance. She lifts her hips a little more, lining them up, but her shaking makes him miss the mark, the head of his cock nudging against her clit.

Her breath hitches, and she can tell his own breathing has stalled. Ripley plants her free hand against his nape, arching her back, and the deep timbre of his voice vibrates in her chest. "Would you like me to --?"

The question is cut off by her nod. "Yes, please."

Samuels adjusts his weight over her, and he enters her with such an easy slide that she moans despite herself. Ripley grinds against him, shuddering when the friction reignites the pleasure from earlier. The encouragement spurs him into moving, and his slow, steady rhythm is enough to make her feel out of breath.

She turns her head to press her hot cheek into the pillow. Even without seeing him, she knows that he's probably looking at her. For some reason, that only puts her a little closer. Surely it says something that his attention is the best part of this, but she doesn't have time to think about the implications.

Christopher slips his free hand under her, holding the small of her back. The angle changes as he holds her up, and her hand falls from his neck to hold his arm. She braces herself as she tries to rock back against him, and he speeds up to match her.

Her breath leaves her in a rush. "Like that, yeah."

The pressure begins to peak fast, like it hadn't stopped building at all, and she strains to get closer, chasing the feeling. Her pace stumbles, but he accommodates, pushing back against her. She tenses, her grip on his forearm tightening.

"Chris, I'm --" Her train of thought leaves her. "Please," she says, and she's not sure what she's asking for until he leans down to kiss her jaw, the gentleness of it making her heart turn over. The edge rushes up to meet her, and she comes hard, a cry catching in her throat.

He slows, letting her ride it out. It's good, _really_ good, and she wonders how the hell she went this long without regular orgasms of this caliber. She clings to him for a moment longer, suddenly aware of how wrung-out she feels. When she looks back at Samuels, his expression is soft. "Good, I hope?" he asks, and she hums.

"Easily the best." It was already better by virtue of it being him -- someone who gave a damn about her beyond a quick hookup. She had never put much stock in the idea of "romantic" sex, but... Ripley skates her hand down his arm. "I love you," she says suddenly, overcome with the need to say it aloud.

He smiles before dropping a kiss to her temple. "As do I."

She has to stifle a shiver as he pulls out. She wishes fleetingly that he could get off too. A mingling of guilt and curiosity gets the better of her, and she studies his face as he pushes himself off her. He fixes his pants before sitting on the edge of the bed, glancing around for his missing shirt.

"Is it good for you too?" she asks, and he looks back at her.

"If you're worried about whether or not I enjoy being with you, the concern is unnecessary."

Ripley presses her lips together. "I know, it's just..." she trails off, thinking, but he doesn't give her time to form a sentence.

"I am capable of feeling, even if I cannot reach the same outcome," he starts. He leans to press a kiss to her forehead. "I can feel how warm you are, and how you react to me. I've discovered that I am fond of how you sound."

Heat floods back into her face, but he continues. "Perhaps I am too enamored with you, but watching you is pleasant as well. You are rather stunning."

Flustered, Ripley fixes her eyes firmly on the wall. "Okay, I get your point."

He laughs in response, finding humor in her embarrassment. He leans into her peripherals. "That aside, do you feel sufficiently worn out?"

"I feel fucking exhausted, thank you." She stretches her arms above her head before relaxing, letting lethargy deaden her limbs. She does want to visit the restroom before going back to sleep, though, so she knocks her knees into Samuels' side. "Help me up?"

"Of course," he replies easily, and stands to grab her hand. He pulls her to her feet, and Ripley yanks her oversized sleep shirt back over her thighs. Halfway to the door, she turns to see him still looking for his own tee.

"And Samuels?"

He looks up. "Yes?"

"Leave your shirt off."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a single night after rereading Walk in the Park & Safety Protocols, so you can thank sunnyhomes for this one. If you know me personally, do not mention this fic or I will put out a hit on both of us. 
> 
> As for the people reading this now: for the love of god, drop me a comment. I didn't trash my pride and write raunchy robot porn to get crickets in response. Please validate me.


End file.
